The Magpie
by Mitrus
Summary: Italy gets distracted during his training by a magpie and then proceeds to chase it, no matter what the obstacles are! Unimaginative title is unimaginative. A short drabble fic, suggested by the amazing Chiyaki and set in WWII. Hints of GerIta and FrUK. Some blood (it was MEANT to be all cute D: oh well) and mentions of the contents of England's secret under-the-bunk stash.


"Italy!" Germany yells, enraged. "Stop making pasta already!"

"Ve~ but it's so delicious!" the Italian replies, cheerfully.

Germany's hand hits his own face. "GET UP!" he bellows, startling Italy.

"AHHHHH! But Germany, I'm tired and I'm hungry and I want my pastaaaaaa!" he babbles in reply.

"Now," Germany commands. Italy complies, standing up sadly.

"Listen to me," he demands, "you are to do twenty press-ups, then sprint twice around this track."

He motions towards the 400m track.

"Repeat this three more times, then..."

Italy stops concentrating; a small creature has caught his eye. A magpie.

"Ve~~" Italy breathes, staring at the magpie with a huge smile on his face.

"Italy! Are you listening?" Germany yells, seeing his comrade spacing out and staring at a point a few metres away.

Meanwhile, the magpie hops around and looks up at the two nations. In what might be terror or confusion, it flies away.

"Noooo! Come back!" Italy says, running in the direction of the magpie.

"ITALYYYYY!" Germany shouts, sprinting after Italy. "You're meant to do twenty press-ups FIRST!"

However, Germany couldn't help but admire the fact that Italy was actually doing something save making pasta or sleeping for once.

The magpie leads Italy and, in turn, Germany on a wild chase, through partially-destroyed forests and across the barren wasteland known as no-man's land.

"Italy! Stop immediately!" Germany cries out as they run onto no-man's land.

With newfound agility, Italy leaps over or ducks through every piece of barbed wire, calling for the magpie to return.

Germany finds his leg entangled in barbed wire and loses track of Italy.

"Get back here!" Germany half-heartedly shouts, trying to free his leg, but his ally is oblivious to his danger.

A shot rings out, and Germany's head snaps up, expecting to see Italy falling.

"Nein..." he mutters, seeing Italy standing still.

Wait - is he holding a gun?

"You stay away from my friend!" Italy yells in the direction of the Allies.

"He thinks of me as a friend?" Germany whispers, stunned.

"Ack - this isn't heroic..." America says, clutching a bloody shoulder.

"I will enjoy shooting you - a fountain of blood to commemorate the victory of Mother Russia, da?"

Germany yanks his leg out of the barbed wire harshly, tearing his uniform and scratching the flesh below.

"What? You mean the victory of the Allied Powers, aru!"

He sprints towards the trenches.

"Nyet," Russia replies. "For Mother Russia."

He gets closer to the trenches, pulling a pistol out of his pocket at the same time.

And firing it.

Russia smiles as the shot hits him in the arm. Blood stains it, but his creepy grin remains.

"Russia, aru!" China shouts.

The shot startles the magpie, which had been staring at these beings with great curiosity. It flies away, continuing in the same direction.

"Noooooooooooo!" cries Italy, leaping over the trench with Germany hot on his heels.

* * *

"Hey, Angleterre."

"What is it, frog?" the British gentleman replies with a note of hostility, a cup of tea in his hand.

"I found this~" France replies, pulling out his hands from behind his back.

England's eyes widen. "Is that-"

"Mon dieu, look at this," he says, flicking through the book. "Handcuffs, whips, gags, sounding rods...we should try these someti-"

"Give that back!" England yells, his tea cup slamming down on the table with a force that almost breaks it.

He pounces on France, stealing his precious book from his grasp.

"Angleterre!" the Frenchman says, laughing.

"Bloody hell," he mutters, embarrassed, "I told you not to look through my paraphernalia."

"Don't you mean paraphilia?"

England rolls his eyes, stuffing the book under the bunk bed nearby, which he shares begrudgingly with France. It seems totally out of place in a tent, but it's there nevertheless.

"Anyway, I believe we were about to discuss our tactics for tomorrow," says England.

Suddenly, a magpie flies into the tent, distracting the two.

"What the bloody hell-?" England mutters as the bird lands on his head.

"Nooooo!" shouts a voice from outside.

Italy runs into the tent, arms spread out in front of him to catch the magpie.

"I don't want to hurt-a you!" he cries, leaping to catch it.

"Get off, you git!" England yells as Italy knocks him to the ground.

"Bonjour, Italie~," France coos, "it's nice to see y- MON DIEU, C'EST ALLEMAGNE!"

With these words, he flees out of the tent.

Germany, who just ran into the tent, dives to catch Italy, crushing England in the process.

"Ack-! The mighty British Empire... will not be defeated... this easily," he groans from under the pile.

"ITALY! YOU ARE DOING SOME EXTRA TRAINING TO MAKE UP FOR THIS, YOU..." Germany bellows, interrupted by one more nation entering the tent.

"Aiyah!"

"Scheiße," says Germany, seeing the wok in China's hand.

China slams the wok onto his head so hard that he rolls off of Italy and England, clutching his head.

Then, China raises the wok again, preparing to strike Italy.

"The magpie!" Italy calls out, running back out of the tent at a speed that would make Germany proud... if he didn't only move that quickly when retreating.

Or chasing magpies, for that matter.

Despite his splitting headache, Germany scrambles to his feet and follows his ally.

"Magpie?" China asks, turning to England.

"Don't ask," England mutters, standing up and brushing the dirt off of his arms.

"By the way," he adds as China turns to leave, "thanks, China."

"I didn't do it for you, ahen," he replies curtly, leaving the tent.

* * *

"Germanyyy! Look!" Italy says, bubbly as ever.

"What...do you want?" he responds angrily, a hand clutching the growing lump on his head.

"There are two magpies!"

Italy leans over the bush, looking at the nest on a lowish branch in a tree. If it weren't for the magpie, he would've been as useless as normal and fallen down the slope which was allowing him to have such a view.

Soon, Germany joins him, looking into the nest.

"So adorable~" Italy croons.

"Ja, cute. Now, as for your punishment-"

"Hey, hey, Germany, don't they remind you of us?"

"WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING?" the blonde yells in response, scaring the magpies away.

"Nooo, Germany, the mag-"

Germany grabs Italy's curl roughly, causing the latter to fall silent, and he begins to drag him back to their camp.

"Scheiße, we're on the other side of no-man's land," he states, letting go of Italy.

Italy rubs his sore, accursed curl, as Germany sighs.

"Let's go," he says, taking Italy's curl in his hand again.

* * *

"Ne, Doitsu, the Allies are-" Japan says, poking his head into his allies' tent.

"They're not here?" he asks himself, looking briefly outside of the tent in confusion.

A very bedraggled Germany re-enters the camp, dragging Italy by the curl.

"Oh my!" Japan exclaims. "What happened?" He glances towards the not-so-cheerful Italy with a look of concern.

"Long story," Germany sighs. "Well, there was this magpie..."

He proceeds to explain everything to Japan.

"...and then Italy told them to stay away from his friend..."

He turns to Italy. "Do you really think of me...as a friend?"

"Actually," Italy mutters, staring at the ground, "I was talking about the magpie."

"Oh...I see..." Germany replies.

"But we're friends too, Germany!" he exclaims happily, throwing his arms around Germany.

Germany's eyes widen at the unexpected hug.

"J...ja..."


End file.
